


...duck?

by ToEdenandBackAgain



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A Duck - Freeform, Based on a Tumblr Post, Crowley Being Hopelessly In Love, Dorks Pining, Other, a picnic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 03:53:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToEdenandBackAgain/pseuds/ToEdenandBackAgain
Summary: Based on the Tumblr post by assiraphales [https://assiraphales.tumblr.com/post/185629047921/while-aziraphale-is-the-one-that-took-so-long-to]Crowley has waited 6000 years for this and he's still not ready to handle itOR: Useless dork tries to keep his shit together when his boyfriend is too cute for words





	...duck?

St James’s park is miraculously beautiful today. The sun is perfectly angled to send dappled light through the leaves of the trees, which are swaying ever so slightly in the breeze that is enough to tickle across the skin but not to toss anything around. All of the flowers are in the most vivid, perfect stages of blooming and the grass is soft to the touch with a kiss of dew. The tartan picnic blanket is spread out under the shade of a tree, with two wine glasses full of red wine that would dare not topple over despite the softness of the ground. The remains of cucumber and creme fraiche sandwiches, pitted dates and green grapes are dotted on a serving platter. Aziraphale has removed his shoes (but not his socks) and is _lounging_ on the blanket, his curls ever so slightly crushed under the weight of his head. 

“My dear boy, I can hardly believe we waited so long to do this. This day has been complete perfection in every manner possible.”

Crowley aims for a casual hmm and instead gets a noise not dissimilar to an unattended tea kettle. Aziraphale doesn’t appear to notice, only smooths an imaginary wrinkle in the blanket and wiggles his socked toes before reaching over to take Crowley’s hand as though they have done this a thousand times before. As though his hand in Crowley’s is exactly where it has always belonged. 

“And you’re looking handsome, though you always do. I think this new coat of yours is quite fetching.” 

He adjusts Crowley’s lapel ever so gently and Crowley is certain the air he doesn’t even need to breathe has somehow gotten heavier. 

“Though, truly… every day I spend with you is a gift. If all I could ever have is your company, I would choose it again and again.” 

Crowley can’t help it. He whines and buries his face in his hands because _it’s too much_ and then there are soft hands prying his fingers from his face and concerned eyes meeting his through the darkness of his glasses. 

“My dear, what is the matter?”

He can’t tell Aziraphale. It’s embarrassing. He’s a _demon_. He’s not supposed to be done in by things like this. By sweet words and soft dates and this feeling eating away in his gut that makes him want to shower Aziraphale in soft, innocent kisses. So he says the first thing that comes to mind, gaze shooting past Aziraphale to the edge of the picnic blanket. 

“I see a duck.” 

Aziraphale makes a face. Then, keeping his eyes on Crowley as long as he can, turns to look. The duck is taupe and brown and adorably plump. It quacks. Aziraphale beams at it and reaches for the crust of a sandwich, holding it out for the small thing to catch between its beak before it waddles away, the picture of a successful hunter. Crowley’s heart feels like it’s going to explode. Aziraphale _fed the duck_. The angel is looking at him, soft and fond and Crowley can’t take it.

“Would you like to go see more ducks, dear?” Aziraphale offers, the barest hint of a knowing smile on the corner of his soft pink mouth that Crowley wants to kiss at, “I know you’re quite fond of them.” 

“m’fond of you.” he mumbles, finally able to wrench out something resembling a coherent thought. Aziraphale leans in and presses a feather light kiss to the inside of Crowley’s palm, along the swell of his thumb. 

“I’m quite fond of you too, my dear.” 


End file.
